


The Good of the Group

by HootieMcBoobs



Series: Hours and Hours [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horcrux Hunting, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Outercourse, Poor Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HootieMcBoobs/pseuds/HootieMcBoobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Ron was watching her look at him, a knowing grin on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard.</i> </p><p>
  <i>Well, Hermione Granger didn't like losing at anything. Ron may have had the element of surprise, it was true, but now that she'd had a chance to catch her breath, he was about to learn that two could play this game. Thought he would tease her, did he? Well, Ron Weasley was about to get a master class in frustration.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She pulled her shirt over her head and unceremoniously tossed it to one side. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good of the Group

The tension was unbearable. Hermione punched her pillow and rolled over for the umpteenth time, unable to sleep.

There was plenty to be tense about. The search for Horcruxes was going absolutely nowhere and for someone who prided herself on her intelligence and problem-solving, it was infuriating to find herself stumped. Then there was the matter of the locket, another vexing problem with no solution, and one that was growing worse by the day, its toxicity leeching every last bit of hope from every interaction. 

And on top of all that, of course, there was Ron. Her brief moments alone with him were tiny slivers of light in what had become an otherwise dreary existence. She felt mildly guilty for their covert sexual encounters, both for keeping Harry in the dark and for wasting time when they should have been focused on the larger matter at hand but at the same time, she couldn't stop. She needed him and the comfort he brought her. She and Ron had never talked about what was going on between them and she sternly repeated to herself that their dalliances meant nothing, they were simply a way to help them both relieve some stress, something that could only be for the good of the group. 

And if she kept repeating it, maybe she'd start to believe it. But it was difficult because it was Ron. 

Beautiful, infuriating Ron, who knew her better than any one else and had taken it upon himself to distract her from her growing frustration. 

She had been silently fighting with him all day. Not _fighting_ in the literal sense of the word, but make no mistake, there was a battle being waged. 

It started innocently enough. An overly long look across the breakfast table that he tried to cover up. Seemingly innocent touches like a hand on her hip when he brushed past her in the tent, so delicate that she wasn't entirely sure they had happened at all. Small things that could easily be passed off as a coincidence or a minor misinterpretation.

It was a delicate operation, Harry still didn't know what had transpired between them, and at first it took her awhile to clue in to what Ron was trying to do. But as the day went on, he ramped up his offensive to the point where there could be no misunderstanding. 

_Blatant_ heated looks every time Harry turned his back, unmistakably hungry stares that focused on her breasts or legs, usually accompanied by a wolfish grin. Fingers that trailed across her bum or thighs as he stood unnecessarily close to her. A ludicrous claim that his splinched shoulder had started hurting again, weeks after the wound had been healed, could she just massage it for him please? Here, he'd take his shirt off to make it easier for her.

All-out war.

She'd massaged his damn shoulder all right, glaring at him with narrowed eyes while he'd looked back at her with overly innocent expression. Caught off-guard, she'd been unable to mount an offensive and instead played defense as best she could, fighting the blush in her cheek and trying to ignore the persistent throb in her lower belly.

Oh, she _despised him_. But god, how she wanted him.

Still unable to sleep, she peeked out between the gap in her curtains.

Harry and Ron were in the bunk beds across the room. The lower bunk was dark, Harry was already asleep. If she held her breath and listened, she could hear his slow, even breathing. In the upper bunk, a faint light glowed behind the curtains. Ron was still awake.

As if reading her mind, the curtain on the top bunk twitched and she saw Ron poke his long nose out of the gap. His face lit up when he saw her.

She waved at him shyly. She put her finger against her lips in a shushing gesture, then pointed to Harry's bunk.

Ron nodded and made a shushing gesture of his own. He pushed the curtains back a little more and sat up, revealing more of himself to her.

He was shirtless and she salivated at the sight of his torso in the flickering candlelight. God, that chest... just a few short days ago she had run her lips and tongue all over that glorious chest, sucking his skin into her mouth while her hands pumped his erection to completion. If she closed her eyes, she could still taste his skin and feel his hot breath in her hair.

After how he'd had her keyed up all day, this was just unfair. The familiar, persistent pulse of desire that had tormented her all day flared brightly again, and there was no room in her mind for Voldemort or Horcruxes or lockets, only ferocious, dizzying need.

Ron was watching her look at him, a knowing grin on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard.

Well, Hermione Granger didn't like losing at _anything_. Ron may have had the element of surprise, it was true, but now that she'd had a chance to catch her breath, he was about to learn that two could play this game. Thought he would tease her, did he? Well, Ron Weasley was about to get a master class in frustration.

She pulled her shirt over her head and unceremoniously tossed it to one side. 

It was comical how quickly Ron bolted upright, like a cartoon character from her childhood TV shows. He moved to jump down from the bunk but she had anticipated that move and immediately held her hand up, palm out toward him.

_Stop. Stay there._

Ron made a pleading face but she firmly jabbed her finger at him.

_Stay. There._

When he still didn't move to sit back down, she gave an elaborate shrug and started putting her shirt back on. Ron immediately threw his hands up in the air like a prisoner of war and obediently shimmied back into his bed.

From below Ron, the sounds of movement. Hermione and Ron silently watched each other across the room as Harry shifted in his bunk, still hidden behind his curtain. After a moment, Harry seemed to settle and his deep, steady breathing resumed.

Hermione tossed her shirt to the side again, then shimmied her way out of her pajama pants as well, leaving her totally naked, bared to Ron in a way she had never been to anyone. It was nerve-wracking, and she was grateful that the darkness would hide what she was certain was a furious blush, but it was also exhilarating. Even in the dimmed light of the tent, she could see that Ron's eyes had grown as large as saucers. He was leaning so far over the edge of his bed that she was certain he was in danger of falling out and she could see the intensity of his face as his eyes intently pored over her every inch. He winced, looking physically pained, as his fingers tightly gripped the edge of his mattress.

He certainly wasn't looking so smug anymore, a thought that gave her vicious satisfaction. He wanted her. And she had him entirely under her control. 

She shifted to the edge of the bed, facing Ron so that her whole body was exposed to him, and spread her legs.

She heard a low whimper and held out her hand again, making sure he understood that he was to stay put. She listened to Harry's steady breathing again for a moment until she was confident that he was entirely asleep, then she dropped her hand between her legs.

She let her fingers trail over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs first, feeling the muscles dance in anticipation. She was already wet as her hand brushed her mound, entirely unsurprising after the dance she and Ron had been doing all day. 

She spread her lips with one hand and slid her middle finger deep inside herself, relishing the initial sensations and the harsh intake of breath she heard from across the room. 

Ron's gaze was locked between her legs as she began to trace lazy circles around her clitoris. The familiar warm, flush feeling began circulating through her veins as she settled into a rhythm. She rocked her hips slightly, careful not to creak the rusty old camp bed, and watched Ron watch her. 

His presence added a new dimension to her desire. So often when she was by herself, her eyes were tightly closed while she fantasized about Ron being with her. But now he _was_ here, watching her, as intense a look as she had ever seen on his face, and she struggled to keep her eyes open against the quickly rising waves of pleasure radiating from her core.

She dipped her fingers back inside herself and he let out another short whine, his face pained. His hand dropped to his own crotch, squeezing restlessly at the bulge in his pajamas and she _knew_ what that felt like, had had that bulge in her bare hands, and she let out a low moan of her own at the memory of it.

Her bedsprings let out a squeal of protest as she thrust her hips a little too enthusiastically but she was past the point of controlling herself. She pressed harder and faster, her hand a blur of desperate motion between her legs as she drove herself higher and higher. Ron was watching her face, his mouth open in a mirror of hers, she could hear the harsh pants of his breath matching hers -

She stuffed her free hand against her mouth to muffle her cries, her eyes fluttering closed as the orgasm broke over her, sharp and intense, spiralling, shattering through all the pent-up frustration of the day.

Across the tent, there was a creak of bedsprings and a flurry of movement. By the time her startled eyes could open, Ron was kneeling between her legs, his body covering hers.

Harry shuffled again. Hermione and Ron stared at each other, their faces only inches apart. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh through his thin pajama pants, his bare chest against hers, his hot breath against her mouth. She fumbled blindly for her wand as Harry shifted again, although she was unsure what she was going to do if he did make an appearance. 

One last movement from Harry, then silence. After a long moment, his deep breathing resumed.

Ron lowered his face to her breasts and attacked them hungrily. She gasped, arching her back as he sucked the sensitive skin around her nipple into his mouth.

“Harry - ” she sighed but her hands were already twined in Ron's brilliant red hair, holding him tightly against her.

“ - is asleep,” Ron finished, his low voice muffled by her skin. “I need you.”

“Yes. Me too.”

He continued his incessant attack, sucking hard and sawing his tongue over her nipples. Whichever breast wasn't in his mouth was restlessly kneaded by one of his large, strong hands. She'd never had her breasts touched before, save one clumsy pass by Cormac McLaggen, and she was stunned at how good it felt. Every suck, every squeeze seemed to send a jolt of pleasure directly to her core. She moaned and arched her back again, trying to increase the friction between them.

Ron's erection pressed insistently against her thigh. She reached down for it blindly, dipping under the waistband of his pajamas until she could circle the tip with her fingers. Ron gave a groan of approval, his mouth vibrating against her nipple and sending another pleasant shockwave over her skin. She sat up for a minute to push his pants down his thighs, then lay back, pulling him on top of her once more.

His erection pushed against her bare skin, radiating heat, and even though she was still shivering from the aftershocks of her last orgasm, the desire roared through her again, equal parts howling frustration and burning need. Ron was _everywhere_ , overwhelming her with his warm skin, his strong hands, his mouth. His cock nudged against her again, so tantalizingly close to where she wanted him the most, all she had to do was lift her hips a little higher and he would be against her.

She wanted to, there was no denying that. The touch of her own hand was nothing compared to the fire he was stoking in her, a fire she knew would only be extinguished when he was buried inside her as deep as he could go. Her need for him, for the release that he could give her, was almost enough to overpower her rational mind.

_Almost._

“Wait, wait,” she said breathlessly, putting a hand against Ron's chest. He stopped instantly, looking down at her with concern.

“Are we - ” She struggled with her words. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?” he said, a confused look on his face.

She looked pointedly down between them.

“Oh!” Ron said. “No, I wasn't going to – I mean, not _in_. Just – _against_.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. “Okay.”

He rocked back onto his knees then gently lifted one of her legs, then the other up over his left shoulder. She was too intrigued to be embarrassed by the position, alien as it was for her. She looked up at him, mildly apprehensive as she waited to see what he had planned.

Ron gripped his cock in his fist, pumping it, then positioned himself against the juncture of her thighs. As she watched, fascinated, the head of his penis pushed through her closed legs, still damp from her own arousal. Every inch of him slid across the slick channel of her pussy, her wetness leaving a sheen on his cock. She stiffened and gasped as his length slid over her still-sensitive clitoris.

“Okay?” Ron said breathlessly.

“Yes,” she said quickly, in a voice that was far too loud given the circumstances. “Again. More.”

He eased in and out again, his cock appearing and disappearing between her thighs. She squirmed against him, trying to prompt him into a faster rhythm. She tightened her thighs and Ron made another low sound in his throat, his hardness sliding wetly against her softness.

She didn't know where to look, her hungry gaze torn between his slicked erection and his intense, rapidly reddening face. Ron groaned as he met her eyes. “So good,” he whispered and she moaned in agreement, all coherent speech beyond her. He was thrusting harder now, he was so _strong_ and she loved it, feeling something dark and primal as her whole body rocked at the mercy of his movements.

One of his fingers slid inside her, then two, and she whimpered and bucked herself against him. His wet cock slid over her clitoris in an increasingly fast rhythm and she felt a familiar tightness coiling low in her stomach.

She was going to come again. She was going to come again and all the effort in the world wasn't going to be able to keep her quiet. She could hear the whimpers already escaping her throat, high-pitched and breathless and entirely unstoppable.

Ron pressed harder against her, his fingers still teasing her entrance. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.

Desperate in the face of the inevitable, she reached up and pulled Ron awkwardly down on top of her. The action folded her nearly in half like some kind of erotic acrobat, her knees butting into her chin, and she knew she'd be paying for that manoeuvre in the morning but it did accomplish her goal. She sank her teeth hard into Ron's right shoulder, muffling her cries as the orgasm roared over her, stampeding through her nerves all the way down to her toes as her muscles pulsed around his fingers. She was dimly aware of Ron wincing as he came in thick, hot spurts across her belly.

As they came back into themselves, Hermione spread her legs so that Ron could collapse on her with his full weight. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him close as he nuzzled against her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her own naked chest and despite everything that had just transpired between them, this felt the most intimate and she realized with dim dread that while the orgasms were nice, it was _this_ that she was really craving.

“Can I just stay here?” Ron murmured into her hair and she had to close her eyes against the sudden ache in her heart. 

“Okay, okay,” Ron said wearily even though she hadn't replied. He lifted his head from her neck and regarded her solemnly, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. His eyes travelled intently across her face as if to memorize her every feature. He settled on her mouth finally, and through the rising pound of blood in her ears she heard him take a deep breath as he bent his head down toward her -

\- and she turned her head.

His lips landed awkwardly on her cheek, Ron's long nose crashing against her cheekbone. There was an embarrassing moment of stillness, then Ron kissed her cheek gently, as if that had been his intent all along.

It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss him, she did. The problem was that she wanted to entirely too much. It was one thing to blindly grope each other in the dark for some momentary relief, it was another thing to be playing at boyfriend and girlfriend when there were so many other responsibilities at hand. She had to think of the good of the group, not her own selfish wants.

She couldn't look at Ron as he got to his feet, pulling his pajama pants back up as he did. Without another word, he padded quietly across the tent and vaulted himself into the upper bunk. Harry shuffled in his sleep again but it didn't matter anymore. 

Hermione fished her pajamas up from the ground and put them back on, feeling Ron's eyes on her from across the room. When she looked up, his face was drawn and sad.

Trying to lighten the mood, she blew him a kiss.

Ron made a great show of pretending to catch it, then solemnly pressed his hand over his heart.

Flustered, she closed the curtains.

But sleep was a long way away.

~~~~~~~~

The next morning brought little relief. Her sleep had been restless, switching between glorious dreams of wedding dresses and red-headed children and horrifying nightmares of Ron dying in her arms on a distant battlefield.

She sighed and rubbed absent-mindedly at her aching back.

“You all right?” Harry said.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied noncommittally, making sure not to meet Ron's eyes.

“And what's that on you?” Harry said to Ron. “You've got a big mark on your shoulder too. We are literally falling apart here.”

“Eh?” Ron said, reaching up to feel around where Harry had pointed.

Oh God, she had bitten him. Right in the spot Harry was pointing. 

“Yeah, just there,” Harry said, gesturing at his own neck. “Here, let me see - ” He got up from his chair.

“I'll do it,” Hermione said, bluntly pushing Harry out of the way. She stood directly between the two boys, blocking Harry's view. She pulled the collar of Ron's shirt down to reveal the prefect indentations of her teeth in a neat circle on his shoulder.

“Looks like some sort of bite,” she said, trying to contain her laughter. She quickly summoned the Essence of Dittany out of her beaded bag and applied a thin layer before Harry came to investigate any further.

“A bite?” Harry said curiously. “What, like a bug?”

She closed her eyes against the wave of laughter, willing herself not to look at Ron. “Something like that,” she said in a even voice, watching with relief as the dittany erased the last of the damning evidence away from Ron's skin.

“You need to be more careful,” she said to Ron with a wink.

He gave her a weak smile. He looked as exhausted as she was. She had told herself, repeatedly, that her and Ron's nighttime dalliances were good for each other, that a little orgasmic stress-relief could only be good for the group, but given the drawn look on Ron's face and the heaviness she felt in her own heart, she knew this was no longer the case.

Harry was washing the breakfast dishes, his back to them, so Hermione summoned all of her Gryffindor courage and made her boldest move yet.

She bent down toward Ron and kissed him.

It was a chaste kiss, little more than a quick press of her lips against his, but it was intentional and unmistakable. She let her lips linger on his for a dangerously long moment, wanting to make sure Ron understood and, more selfishly, wanting to make the wonderful moment last as long as she could.

Ron looked completely dumbfounded as she sat back down beside him at the breakfast table, but the smile that slowly broke over his face was like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds. He seemed to re-inflate right in front of her, sitting taller in his chair, his shoulders straighter. She felt her own face curving into a long-forgotten smile as Ron unabashedly beamed at her, looking stronger and energetic and care-free, every bit the Ron of their school days.

The Ron she had fallen in love with.

“So,” Ron said cheerfully as Harry returned to the table, “what's the plan for today?”

Harry eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly, “I thought we could look back into the orphanage that Tom Riddle was at. I know he wasn't fond of his time there, but there might be something.”

“Great idea!” Ron said with enthusiasm.

Harry's suspicious frown deepened. “Did you put something in your tea this morning?” he said, reaching for Ron's mug.

“No,” Ron said, laughing. “Maybe whatever bit me on the shoulder is making me feel better.”

His knee bumped purposefully against Hermione's under the table. She pressed her own leg against his, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. 

“Well I'll take it, whatever it is,” Harry said dourly, but she could see the telltale beginnings of a smile on his face as well. 

She didn't know what this thing with Ron was or what it meant but if there was any bit of comfort that could be taken in this harsh, helpless environment, she should grab it tightly and never let it go. He was good for her, she knew that, and she thought she was good for him too. 

And that could only be good for all of them.


End file.
